The Court of the Mad King
by UselessWreckage
Summary: "Your son requires your presence immediately," Merlin lied, "He's sent me to find you." "Indeed? And what is it the Prince requires me for so urgently?" Merlin seethed with irritation. He might have once hoped for a career in making up fictions based on Anglo-Saxon history, but this was ridiculous. "He would not say, Sire. The matter is confidential."


"Mr. Pendragon?"

Merlin grimaced and rolled his eyes - the young-sounding voice belonged to someone on the other end of a phone line, so his face was free to contort without repercussion. His name was not Pendragon, thank you very much, it was Emrys. He was still annoyed when people automatically assumed he'd taken Arthur's more well-known and influential surname, as if he'd only gotten married for the doors the name would undeniably open. But he had also come to terms with the fact that he had to pick his battles in this world, and the surname debate was a petty and unworthy cause.

"Yes?" he answered instead of arguing, training his voice to sound less annoyed and impatient than he really was.

"It's your father-in-law again."

* * *

He found a parking space right outside the doors to the museum and blessed the fact that the place was practically deserted outside of the holiday seasons. He hurried through the automatic doors, not having bothered to put a coat on to protect against the dreary day's drizzle. He immediately recognised Daegal, the young receptionist, whose voice really should have been more familiar to him over the phone by now. He _had_ just been getting into the flow of writing when the phone went off, though, and being dragged back to reality was both startling and annoying. And besides, perhaps Daegal should know Merlin's _name_ by now - then again, that might also be his own fault for not bothering to correct the lad.

"I am _so_ sorry," he insisted the moment Daegal looked up from behind the desk, "I was writing and I never heard a thing; I swear he gets stealthier every day. I shall have to get new locks installed." He could tell from the teenager's smile that he was forgiven for his lack of security around the old man. It was fortunate that Daegal was the closest thing Merlin had to a fan - the only stranger he'd ever met who admitted to reading and enjoying his one published novel, which had flopped quite spectacularly. He gave the boy an apologetic shrug before asking, "Where is he?"

"I think he's currently having a deep conversation with a waxwork of king Æthelstan. Letting him into the exhibition is usually the safest bet. All the real artefacts and weapons are behind thick glass, anyway, so he can't do much harm."

Merlin winced at the fact that the boy had a routine for what to do when Merlin's ability as a caregiver fell short. This was the fourth time Uther had wandered off to the museum in as many weeks, and it was only two days since the last time.

"Thanks," he said genuinely, before scurrying to find the runaway.

"Uther?" he called tentatively into the room from which he'd heard muffled conversation. The chatter was largely one sided, as a conversation with a wax figure usually is, and relatively peaceful. When the speaker heard his name, though, his manner transformed. He stepped back from where he was standing, and looked around to identify who had addressed him. Upon seeing the new arrival, he made his excuses to the long-dead king by his side, and bore down upon Merlin with thunderous rage.

"I am your _king_," he hissed, "How dare you speak to me without my title, _boy_? Such insolence is inexcusable! And in front of foreign royalty at that!"

Uther waved an indicating hand towards Æthelstan, who was still staring happily into an unseen horizon. This time, Merlin had to keep his eyes in check. They could roll when they got home. It wasn't that he didn't pity the confused man. He would probably have been a lot more patient if he didn't have this conversation or one similar to it every _fucking_ day. At least he knew what to do to placate the old would-be despot. Further angering Uther was unwise; he was not in his right mind and there was no telling what he would do. Merlin could hardly fight back if he decided to attack him, so he bowed lowly and courteously.

"Forgive me, your Grace," he said humbly, "I am most contrite. But I have an urgent message."

He kept his back bowed but looked up at Uther, trying his best to appear earnest and subservient, although he doubted either of those words were very accurate descriptions of him at the best of times.

"Very well," Uther said eventually, his own eyes narrow and suspicious, as they were probably right to be, "What is it?"

"Your son requires your presence immediately," Merlin lied, "He's sent me to find you."

"Indeed? And what is it the Prince requires me for so urgently?"

Merlin seethed with irritation. He might have once hoped for a career in making up fictions based on Anglo-Saxon history, but this was ridiculous.

"He would not say, Sire. The matter is confidential."

Uther nodded conspiratorially with a sudden understanding, though exactly what he understood was anyone's guess. He looked about the room suspiciously.

_Yes,_ thought Merlin, fancying he could see Uther's train of thought, _There is a definite chance that someone in this court, consisting of three mannequins in historical dress and your friend the waxwork, is planning to overthrow you. Now come home with me so we can plot to oust the villain and have them publicly killed in whichever grotesque manner you find most appropriate._

He knew that Uther sat on an extensive library of those. He had heard detailed descriptions of dozens back in the time Prof. Pendragon had been trying to scare off this big-eared, shabby looking, queer and, Lord help us all, _working class_ boy that dared show an interest in his son. When they reached the exit, Daegal saw them off with a cheerful wave and received a grateful nod in return. Merlin had a feeling the kid's workdays would be infinitely boring if it weren't for old Pendragon and his delusional shenanigans.

* * *

Uther sank into a sullen complacency on the drive home. He was easier to manage like this, but Merlin sank into a deeper pool of guilt even for recognising that. The man that had once terrified generations of history students looked lost and helpless as he stared out at the trees and houses of Ealdor shrouded in rain, as if he was looking at some unfamiliar place that he didn't quite understand. Truth to be told, Uther didn't exactly know the town very well. Ever opposed to elitism, Merlin hadn't been thrilled that Arthur accepted a job teaching history at a prestigious public school, but he had to admit he was grateful that the move brought them back to his own home town, which suited him much better than the hustle of Camelot. Even after all these years, he knew his way around without hesitation. Uther, however, only ever seemed to know his way to the museum. That was probably because it was the first place they had brought the retired historian when he moved in with them, trying to make the move easier by providing something relevant to his interests.

When Merlin led the car onto the gravelled driveway, he knew that Uther wouldn't try to run away or to boss him around. The ancient King was gone, replaced by the unenthusiastic ghost that could manage most things by himself, but floated through the world as if he couldn't really see it. Merlin helped him with the buckle and opened the car door for him. They'd never gotten along, not really. They had tolerated each other because they both loved Arthur, and wanted him to be happy, but they'd never _liked_ each other. Still, even with all the animosity in their past, it was painful to see the once formidable man shrivel into this. As he waited patiently for the old man to ascend the stairs to the front door, Merlin wondered what the world looked like to Uther when he was in this state. He seemed to get the millennium right, but he only recognised his son-in-law around forty percent of the time.

He closed the door behind him, and locked it, for all the good that would do. When Uther was at his most deluded, he was also at his most resourceful. He would have to get new locks installed, with keys required from the inside as well… The thought made him uncomfortable. It was as if he were keeping Uther prisoner.

* * *

He felt he could see her disapproving face in front of him. A raised eyebrow that was strikingly similar to the way his uncle Gaius, another healthcare professional, would look whenever he thought you were making the wrong choice. Maybe it was part of their training. If so, Gwen must have really excelled in that class for her eyebrows to be visible over the phone. Merlin wasn't sure the eyebrowing was necessary right now; he'd only called to ask about Uther's medication.

"You know my thoughts on the matter," she said crisply.

"Yes," he sighed.

Her thoughts on the matter were very sensible. That was Gwen all over, really - sensible face, even when it disapproved, sensible choices, sensible shoes. None of the nonsense and mess that characterised Merlin's life. _He_ rejected common sense at every turn, never on purpose, but as a sort of side effect of his ambition, or his love, or his crippling fear of becoming boring.

Gwen thought Uther should be taken care of by professionals, nurses like her who knew what they were doing. She came by twice a week, but clearly that was not enough. He should be in a home, where he could get proper help. More and more, Merlin agreed. Only, this had seemed like such an easy, obvious, and ideal solution three months ago. They had been aware that Uther was getting old and a bit dotty - he'd have trouble remembering how telephones and kitchen appliances worked, and sometimes he had trouble distinguishing between the subject of his study and his own life, which was, at the time, very amusing. But he couldn't live alone anymore, he even admitted it himself. As a translator, Merlin worked from home anyway, and Uther did have the capacity to take care of himself most of the time. He just needed to be kept an eye on. Well, increasingly, he required two eyes. All of the time. But Arthur couldn't stand the thought of putting his father in a home. It seemed a defeat to him somehow. And Merlin couldn't stand the thought of seeing Arthur upset. He'd go to ridiculous lengths to avoid that, which was unhealthy, but undeniably true.

"Getting him to a home would be the better solution for you all. It's the only sensible thing to do," Gwen insisted for the millionth time.

Merlin snorted.

"You would say that," he replied petulantly, "You _are_ all sensible and… Boring."

She laughed, a genuine, happy laugh, clear as a ringing bell.

"Perhaps I am. But I love my life. I'm happy. So if I'm a little boring, then that's okay."

She didn't sound at all offended, but she hung up without saying goodbye and perhaps he deserved that.

* * *

"Hey."

As the front door slid shut, Merlin thought he could see the strict, harried history teacher melt away and become his Arthur. His face seemed to soften, his shoulders relaxed, and as he hung his coat up, he put an arm around Merlin and kissed his cheek tenderly.

"Hey," he echoed sweetly.

Merlin leaned into Arthur's grip and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of comfort. He sighed with relief.

"How was your day?" he asked when he extracted himself from the hug. Arthur groaned as he kicked off his shoes.

"Those kids are absolute monsters. I'm half a mind to reread dad's old books to find a fitting punishment for those demons."

Merlin chuckled.

"Am I to believe that _you_ were better behaved back in your glory days?"

"Oh, not at all. I was a pest. I've no idea why they let me to live to adulthood."

"I'm glad they did," Merlin said, placing a swift kiss on Arthur's temple. Arthur smiled at him, then changed the subject.

"How's dad?"

Merlin's heart sank.

"He went to the museum again," he said, his voice low.

"_Again?_" Arthur's voice wasn't loud, but it was angry, and the smile had disappeared from his face. "Merlin, you're supposed to make sure that doesn't happen! It's the second time in a _week_!"

"I know, and fourth time this month. I'm going to have to start working downstairs so I can see him better, and we need to look into doing something about the locks - "

"Arthur!"

That booming voice could only mean one thing.

"Uh-oh," said Arthur, "The King is back. I better see what he wants."

* * *

"Thank you, Merlin," said Arthur cheerfully as Merlin gave him a potato.

"My pleasure," he answered with a grin, "Would you pass the sauce, please?"

"Certainly."

Uther's back was straight and his eyes burning with suspicion - the King was with them still. Merlin decided to ignore that, and offered him the sauce after he had taken his fill.

"More sauce, Uther?"

The man had hardly touched his food.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, instead of giving a useful answer.

"Um, well, currently I'm having dinner," Merlin chirped, "And offering you some more sauce."

"Arthur, why is your servant eating with us?"

Merlin put the sauce down and counted silently to ten. Of course he was a servant in Uther's imaginary world. What else? He'd always been someone of hideously low rank in Uther's mind, it was only to be expected that it would manifest this way.

"He's not my _servant_, dad," said Arthur impatiently, "It's _Merlin_."

This didn't seem to discourage Uther at all.

"This is absurd. Kings do not dine with serving staff. Get out of here! Eat with the pigs for all I care, but not at my table!"

He waved a dismissive arm at Merlin, who would have quite liked to point out that the table in fact his, not Uthers; he had both picked it out and paid for it. But Arthur was quicker to rise to the challenge.

"Father!" his tone was strict and sharp, and immediately got Uther's shocked attention. This must be the voice he used with his students. He'd inherited an intimidating majesty from his father, imperious enough to make any unruly schoolboy yield. "_I say_ Merlin will eat with us, and so he _will._"

The self-crowned monarch did not like that one bit.

"Is this a matter over which you would defy your king?" he demanded loudly, slamming a fist down on the table. Merlin had had quite enough.

"Arthur, it's fine," he said quietly, before the argument could escalate further, "I'll eat in the hallway." He took his plate and left the room. Uther seemed to calm down substantially the moment he got up. _Old git_, Merlin thought to himself.

In the hallway, he felt Arthur's hand around his wrist.

"He's not well," Merlin reminded him, like he did himself constantly, "There's no use arguing with him when he's like this."

"If you eat out here, then so will I."

"No, someone has to make sure Don Quixote in there doesn't mistake the fridge for a dragon and attack it."

Arthur smiled involuntarily.

"Come on, he's not _that_ bad."

"You never know."

There was a loaded silence which Arthur broke with the words that Merlin hated hearing.

"I'm sorry about all this, love."

"No, you're not, there's nothing to be sorry for," Merlin put his food down on a shelf and desperately took Arthur's face in his hands, "You're the noblest, kindest, most selfless man I know. You don't need to apologise for that. Not many would take on a responsibility like this. I'm _proud_ of you." _Gwen would have my head for saying this._ "Now go and spend time with your father. I'll have you all to myself later."

It proved to be quite a _while_ later, as all the nonsense of the day had put Merlin quite behind on his work. At one o'clock he had just reached the last paragraph of the first draft translation from German that he needed the following morning. It was far from his best work, but as a starting point, it would do. He heard the creak of the door and looked over his shoulder. Arthur was leaning on the frame with sleep in his eyes, his hair tousled.

"I can't sleep without you there," he complained, pouting. Merlin snorted.

"Liar. I've walked in on you lying on your own and snoring like a bulldozer enough times."

"Alright, then, I don't _want_ to sleep without you there. When are you done?"

"You've impeccable timing," Merlin admitted, "I only have a couple of sentences left and I'll be down, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

"I forgot to mention, Peter and Shauzia would like to have us over for dinner this weekend."

They brushed their teeth together every morning. The ritual had stuck with them since they were at university and first moved in together, and whenever they had slept in the same place, they would make sure to clean their teeth together as well. It was a comforting constant independent of everything else that might be going on in their lives. For Merlin, it had been especially important ever since he started working from home. Nobody else managed his schedule, so having his own routine had become essential. According to Gwen, routine was also an important tool for taking good care of Uther, although this part of the day was blissfully free of his influence.

"Would they? That sounds nice. Is it a large party, or just close friends?"

Arthur smiled, toothpaste foaming in his mouth. A result of the toothbrush tradition was that Merlin and Arthur were exceptionally good at understanding each other's mumbling.

"Just close friends."

Merlin was pleased with the information. Arthur's colleagues were, for the most part, a uniform and slightly dull lot, and he would not have looked forward to a party inviting all of them. But Pete and Shauzia were seen by the posh, dreadfully English brunt of the staff as delightfully exotic - he was a Scouser, and her parents were from Afghanistan. The term "close friends" was also likely to include Mordecai, a man with a strange accent who had travelled to so many faraway places that Merlin could never remember which one he was from, and Sue, who had been the only openly gay member of staff until Arthur arrived. Merlin had only known about the dinner for a few seconds, and already he was looking forward to getting out of the house and seeing friends that weren't Arthur or Gwen. He'd sort of neglected that lately.

"Great," he said and spit.

* * *

Really, he should have known that something was about to go to Hell, and really, he should have been able to guess _what_ was going to go to Hell. The day had just been too good to be true. He'd worked out a compromise on the manuscript that kept him up the night before, taken Uther for a nice walk and maybe even managed to make him comprehend the message that "Arthur and I are going out this Friday." The King had yet to make a single appearance. He'd sent the draft in for feedback and had just started cutting some vegetables for a salad when he felt a surprising pain in the back of his head.

* * *

He was still thinking about cucumbers when Arthur managed to get through to him. He couldn't recall ever finishing the cutting of that cucumber, and then he realised he hadn't. He was still in the process of cutting the cucumber, except, well, he was on the floor, and Arthur was looming over him, looking very worried and saying some things.

"Merlin!" was one of the things he was saying, "Can you hear me? Oh, god, Merlin, are you alright?"

It was a pretty unreasonable question. He was lying on the floor, apparently as the result of losing consciousness while cutting a cucumber, that in itself was a pretty big indicator that he wasn't alright.

"Yes," he answered anyway, because he wasn't an idiot - Arthur wanted to know whether he was alright given the circumstances, which he probably was. He tried to sit up.

"No no no, don't move," Arthur insisted, and gently held him in place, "I've called an ambulance."

"An _ambulance_?" Merlin was about to panic, "I don't need an ambulance, do I? How - how long have I been out?"

"I don't know, I only just got home and found you like this. And yes, you do need an ambulance. I checked your head, you've already got a bruise from the fall. If it knocked you out, there's no way you're not concussed."

"Since when do you know so much about concussions?"

"_Everybody_ knows that, Merlin, but feel free to ask Gwen next time you see her."

"I won't, thank you," he huffed, "Never ask Gwen. She'll only tell the truth."

Arthur chuckled at him.

"So you've not gotten your moody wit knocked out of you. Good." then his face turned serious as another thought occurred to him. "Where's dad?"

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face, an interesting feat as he was still mostly horizontal.

"Oh, god. I didn't fall and then knock my head. I was cutting a cucumber and then…" the sentence faded, but Arthur seemed to put two and two together. He straightened up and had another look at the scene.

"Cutting - " he stopped, and his face took on a grey colour. "Merlin… Where's your knife?"

It was as if someone had torn at the seam of the universe and the whole thing suddenly tore apart. Everything with any semblance of control slipped from his grasp in less than a second. The thought of it - Uther, in full Kingly mode, out on his own wielding a kitchen knife for a dagger…

"He could hurt someone," Merlin frantically blabbered, "He could hurt _himself_, Arthur, we have to - "

"Stay _down_, damn it!" Arthur growled. Merlin obeyed. His husband was under enough stress already without having to worry about Merlin worsening his concussion. Arthur took a deep breath and sighed, covering his face with his hands. Then he seemed to pull himself together. "Right. I need to call the police, so they can look for him."

"And Daegal," added Merlin, "Call Daegal."

Arthur looked confused.

"Who's Daegal?"

"Works at the museum. His number's on my phone."

He had saved it after his failure to recognise him yesterday. Arthur nodded, satisfied with Merlin's reasoning. Then he dialled a few numbers and had conversations that Merlin found it surprisingly difficult to follow, although when Arthur addressed him directly to say that Daegal hadn't seen Uther, he managed to get the message. Maybe the old bastard really had hit him pretty hard. The old bastard. The thought didn't have much heat to it. He was much more worried about Uther than he was about himself, because whatever he was up to, it couldn't end well. The incident had begun very badly and with little to no chance of improvement.

* * *

Arthur stayed with him the whole time. Merlin, now in hospital and pretty much confirmed to be basically alright albeit incapacitated, tried to tell him that he should go help look for his father, but he wouldn't budge.

"What if he gets hurt?" Merlin pointed out again.

"He already hurt _you_, and that, to me, is basically the worst that could happen. You're lucky he's lost his strength, ten years ago you'd be dead. There's no question about who needs me right now."

It felt nice, to have Arthur waiting on him like this, holding his hand for no reason and making sure he drank enough water. Merlin's stubborn, independent side was still uncomfortable with the fuss, but he managed to relax. There was not much he could do at the moment, anyway.

"At least they found the knife," he sighed. When the knife had been retrieved from a ditch not far from their house, Leon from the police station had called to keep them informed.

"So, Gwen tells me she thinks you've been in over your head for a while now."

"Gwen? When did you talk to her?"

"Water cooler. She says dad should have been taken care of professionally, and that the responsibility is making you unhappy."

"I'm not unhappy," Merlin protested.

"Darling, you're _hospitalised_."

"I am _now_," he admitted, "Condescending prat." Arthur smiled, as if that had been a compliment. "I know you don't like the thought of your dad in a home, and I can _handle_ it. Well, I thought I could handle it, I…" he'd sort of been proven wrong there, quite spectacularly. "I didn't want to see you upset."

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

"Idiot," he whispered, "As if I'm going to be chuffed with you wearing yourself out for my sake. I feel like a right bastard now."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. I should have seen it, what with how often he ran away, and how tired you've been, and… I just expected that if there was something _really_ wrong, you'd say something. Of all people, I wouldn't think _you_ had a problem standing up for yourself," Arthur teased.

"Shut up," Merlin mumbled, grateful for the lighter tone but not fully convinced. "What are we going to do now?" he asked.

"We are going to - " at that moment, Arthur's phone rang. He answered promptly. "Yes? Oh, thank god. No, that's - I understand. Yes. Thank you."

"They found him?"

"Yes. He was wandering around the woods, a bit confused, and, well, you know how he is. But he didn't seem to have hurt anyone, himself or others."

"Oh, that _is_ good news."

"They're taking him to the station, though, and there'll probably be a fine."

"Only to be expected."

Arthur nodded, and caressed Merlin's hand absently.

"What I was about to say was that we'll find a fitting home for dad. One where he can receive the care he needs from people who know what they're doing and have the time and capacity to do it properly. That won't be a failure on our part; just an admission of the reality of our situation." Merlin raised his eyebrows and Arthur added sheepishly, "She did give me quite a lecture out there." Merlin laughed loudly, then abruptly stopped and winced. That movement was not a good idea. "And," Arthur continued, stroking his head reassuringly, "You and I are going to talk to each other more. We really need to get to know each other."

"That's absurd. We've known each other forever. We've been together for more than a decade. We're _married_."

"Even so. There's always something new to learn. I fear I've been taking you for granted, and I don't like the thought of that. And I think _you_ need to accept that things can't always be perfect, or even fine. It's not your job to make sure I'm never upset, you know."

"I know. I just hate it when you are."

Arthur grinned.

"Well, if you'd liked upsetting me, I'd be rather worried. My sweet little control freak. I should probably go, let you get some rest. I just hope they won't keep you for more that one night; brushing my teeth is going to be lonely."

Merlin just smiled wide, not risking a proper laugh again.

"I love you," he said, and Arthur kissed him.

"I know. And it's my favourite thing to know, because I love you too."

Then he left. And Merlin thought that even if things weren't perfect, or even fine, this still felt kind of like a happy ending.


End file.
